Physics Class: Writer love

​They feed on her pleads

Her breed is near obscurity. 
I sip on their ohs 

They feed on my Ohno’s . 
Certainly runaways are the flames of my candle and you are the melted wax making my modern art. 
You are the matchsticks for my ashes

You are the reason for my stretches

You are the virus for my leucocytes

You will continue,  but I’ll be gone.

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